


Those Times

by ThePlaceThatILeft (Rei_Kingdom)



Series: Pre-Mature Ramblings: Beginnings of a Small (Bright) Spark [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1788, 1934, Aboriginal culture, Aboriginal names, Angst, Australia, Based on True Events, Campfires, Gen, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Please Don't Hate Me, Story within a Story, The Frontier Wars, The Visitors, a legit thing, aboriginals, not meant to be offensive, that happened from, that's a long time, the working title, to, was actually:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6349282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei_Kingdom/pseuds/ThePlaceThatILeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old story retold around a campfire.</p><p>/Originally written at age 13 for a Humanities research piece on Aboriginal history.<br/>Another old find from the past.<br/>See series notes for why this even exists./</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Times

**Author's Note:**

> Um.  
> This is a much more somber piece compared to the other pieces in this series dump.
> 
> As this was another piece that required research, references I used back then are in the end notes.  
> The Australian Frontier Wars between the European settlers and Indigenous Australians were fought from early 1788 to late 1934.  
> That's 146 years guys.
> 
> Apologies in advance if I offended anyone about cultural discrepancies.  
> Please enjoy.

                “It was long, long ago, many years before we lived in peace with the white men, there was a time when we lived at war with them, but not just war, fear. They drove us away from our sacred land and killed many of our people. Our clan fought hard for survival. Even some of the elders may still recall those days of sorrow and despair. Only few of us lived to tell our tale of resistance. ‘The Killing Times’ they called it. Times of bloodshed and death.” One began.

                “Yes. It was when ‘they’ came. Isn’t it?” She asked.

                “Correct. When ‘they’ came, everything changed. At first we were afraid, we hid. We dared show our existence, fearing what they might do if we did. We hid until we could hide no longer. They were quickly taking our hunting land, our sacred land. We had to do something, for if we didn’t, our land would have been stolen, without ‘them’ even knowing our presence.” Another replied.

                “But we weren’t the first to see these... ‘people’.”  Said a third.

                “They had been on our land for years. Building their numbers. Killing us, taking us, and taking what belonged to us, where ever they went.” added the second.

                “Of course they had to move from place to place. They were abusing the land. They took what they wanted. Not what they needed. They destroyed all our precious trees. They took and took and took. Never once did they realise the damage they had done.” agreed the first.

                “When they had run out of resources somewhere, they moved and claimed even more land. Killing, demolishing, anything in their path.” stated the second.

                “How did you find out about.... ummm.... ‘them’?” he asked.

                “The news spread, but not as quickly as the white men. We had heard the news from a survivor from a distant tribe.” The third replied.

                “Are they okay now?” she asked.

                “I’m afraid not. She died soon after she breathed a message to us.” Mumbled the first.

                “Not a message. A warning.”

                “E-e-elder! We beg forgiveness, we have told—” The men said in unison.

                “Quiet.” Commanded the Elder.

Everyone went silent. Even I couldn’t speak. His booming, yet gentle voice struck fear into all of us.

                “Little ones...” His voice suddenly calm and loving.

                “Y-y-yes, Elder?” she stuttered.

                “Yes, ‘Mialie’ (great grandfather)?” he said.

                “ ‘Marinna’ (grandson)? You are here?” Elder said, seemingly surprised.

I hadn’t greeted the Elder yet. But if I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to stay and hear the story of ‘The Killing Times’. My ‘Cooder’(older brother) had heard it already and I wasn’t allowed to hear it until I was deemed ‘ready’ by the Elders of our tribe.

                “Let us continue with ‘the retelling for the generations’.” said Elder. “So, yes. It was a warning.”

                “She met our tribe almost half dead.” said the second.

                “She was beaten up badly and was barely able to speak.” said the third.

                “ ‘They’ did it to her.” said the first.

                “She warned us of the coming danger, she told of their immense strength, power and weapons that were louder than a dingo’s howl. We didn’t understand all of it at the time. Since she came from a different tribe, her dialect was not exactly the same.”  spoke the second.

“They killed without touching us and rode strange beasts and covered their bodies and brought with them many unknown things. They made themselves shelters, but not as we had seen them before.” told the Elder.

“The white men were truly a force to be reckoned with.” commented the second.

“We knew they were coming. So we prepared.” said the third.

“That night, we sent out scouts to find where the white men were. We discovered ‘them’ making shelters far beyond the river that we lived near. We found a shelter with no people in it so we took the white soil and ran off.” said the first.

“The next thing that happened was, truly... a personal memory.” said the Elder.

Though he was obviously calm, and wasn’t going to cry, his tone was sad and regretful. What I heard next shocked me. I never knew...

               

“Calyute, my ‘Mumerdie’ (father), was the chief of the Binjareb tribe. Our tribe. We went out again to scout the area, this time, with some of the other leaders within our tribe. They were caught off guard and captured by the white men. They got taken away. I was left behind because I was sent back by my father to collect some tucker for them to eat later on. On my way to catch up, I witnessed it. The Taking. I ran back— sorry, excuse me.” Elder had whispered, but I could just make out the words.

 

I had never seen or heard Elder like this. Never in my life. He always seemed so controlled and composed, but now, he was a nervous wreck. I watched the others try to comfort him, but to no avail. I watched his great- grandson, Coorain, walk up to him. At 16 years old, he was very strong and smart. He was practically my idol.

 

                “I... never saw my father again,” Elder continued “I suppose he was killed, like any other one of us they found. I know now that it was a foolish thing to do. It endangered the life of my tribe. I left our shelter and found the white men’s camp. I speared one of them. I didn’t know, it would cause such a high scale attack. I... only killed one. They must have killed many.”

                “We prepared for battle, using traditional war paint: three stripes around the upper arms and legs, as well as a boomerang shaped curve on their chest. We painted in red and white.” said the third.

                “But we weren’t prepared early enough. They attacked while we were still preparing. And it was horrific. Our bravest warriors were being killed by their loud ‘fire sticks’. They didn’t even need to touch us, to kill us. They surrounded us. Blocked us from all sides. They used the river to their advantage. And it was true. All the woman said was true.” recalled Elder.

                “Yes. They rode on their beasts and were strong and powerful. We were no match for them. Our best weapons like spears, slingshots and boomerangs were useless against ‘fire sticks’.” Said the first,  “Even our most skilled fighters couldn’t get anywhere near the white men without getting trampled or hit by the ‘fire sticks’. They could have killed us all, but—” he stopped.

                “But they didn’t. They took our women and young men. I managed to hide with most of the children until they had left.” continued Elder. “They didn’t leave much. Nothing was left except for bodies of loved ones, blood, broken homes, missing possessions and the few bodies of the white men.”

                “They killed and took more than half of us. We do not know what they did to them, but it’s over now. It has been years since another ‘incident’ like this. There are new laws now that protect us. It has also taken years to rebuild our tribe, our lives.” said the first.

                “So everything is okay now?” she asked.

                “Yes. Everything is fine.” Elder replied. “But it is still my fault. If I hadn’t acted so foolishly, my father’s tribe may still be alive.”

                “You can’t blame yourself great Grandfather.” said Coorain.

                “He’s right you know.” I said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Ooopps. I spoke.

                “And who might you be?” Elder said in a firm voice.

                “I came, to- to- to listen to the story.” My voice quivered as I spoke.

                “How old are you, my boy?” He seemed back to his normal, strict self.

                “Uh.....twelve....” I hesitated for a moment. I knew 12 year olds were forbidden to listen to ‘the retelling for the generations’.

                “And your name?”

                “B-b-banjora....”

He paused for a bit and then said,

 

                “I’m glad you came to listen.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> when i read this when i first dug it up it made me feel sad at the implications now that im older.
> 
> References:  
>  History Alive 9 by Robert Darlington, Graeme Smithies & Ashley Wood; pg. 143 – 144  
>  Aboriginal Culture – Regional Studies ; http://www.aboriginalculture.com.au/regionalstudies.shtml  
>  Customs & Traditions of the Aboriginal Natives ; http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0607011h.html
> 
> originally written in Cambria (Headings) font.


End file.
